


Goretober Hurt!Peter 2019

by skyjoos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputation, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extreme Gore, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Grinding, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Mutilation, Peter Parker Whump, Rape, Red Room, Whump, boiled alive, flesh, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyjoos/pseuds/skyjoos
Summary: A short collection of gore prompts with hurt Peter. Will update throughout the month of October. Main pairings: Starker & Beck/Peter.Highly explicit content. Please read at your own risk.





	1. Amputated!Peter

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to spooky month, everybody! Hope the month treats you nice. Here's a very gross treat to kick off this series.

It  _ hurts.  _ I can’t move. I try to breathe but all that comes in is a smoggy, thick dust that makes me dry heave in the mask. I go to rip it off but my arms are pinned in a position too painful to bear, even for a mutant. I try to wiggle my way out but my entire body is forced between two gigantic hunks of ceiling. I blink but my vision is blinded by the now broken goggles from my homemade suit. This stupid, worthless suit. It doesn’t have anything smart or high tech like Mr. Stark’s suit. The Stark suit, my  _ real  _ suit. The one I lost. I lost the suit because I was an idiot at the ferry, I could’ve ruined everything. I could lose my life because I was an idiot when facing Toomes. Why didn’t I notice he was breaking the columns to bring the ceiling down? Why didn’t I see it was an obvious trap? Why didn’t I just stay at the dance with Liz? Why am I so stupid?

I go to move again but it’s pointless; Toomes got me right where he wanted me, I’m trapped. My muscles pull and tear and I can’t hold back a wail of pain. It  _ hurts.  _ I’ve never felt this much pain before. I try taking another breath but my mask feels like it’s suffocating me. Oh God, I could die from this, can’t I? I might actually  _ die.  _ It never occurred to me that I could still technically die even with radioactive blood. 

I want to try something but every time I do it feels like the ceiling blocks are digging into me deeper. Maybe there’s a small opening at my feet, maybe I can get out if I pull myself through it somehow. But I don’t have the strength to even pull myself out of the rubble. I can’t breathe, the dust is probably getting into my lungs and I’ll die,  _ die  _ and suffocate and  _ die.  _ I don’t want to die.

“Hello? Hello! Please - any -, any,  _ please _ ,” I scream but everything’s so painful and I’m so scared I can’t form words. 

I try to breathe but even that hurts and I can’t see anything and my body could be anywhere right now under all this rubble and I don’t want to die like this. I can’t see myself but I know I’m shaking because every time I go to breathe or scream my lips tremble and chatter and I can’t make them stop.

“I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck,  _ please.  _ I’m stuck! I can’t move, I can’t -,” I feel anxiety rising through my throat as I try to get somebody,  _ anybody’s _ help.

I start to hyperventilate, my throat hurts from all the dust and debris and the screams of pain. I breathe and breathe until it feels like it’ll be my last breath. I scream again but all it does is fill the silence around me. No one’s coming to help. I’ll  _ die _ here. Mr. Stark will just think I was a reckless kid who couldn’t stop when he was told to. Liz will think I’m some sorry loser she almost went on a date with. May will think … She wouldn’t think. She’d be devastated. I’m going to die and leave her all alone and it’s  _ all my fault.  _

I close my eyes. My vision doesn’t change. All I can see is what’s behind my own eyelids. Maybe I’ll see Uncle Ben. Maybe I won’t. But I know I’m going to die. I haven’t accepted it, I  _ don’t want to die. _ But it’s the only choice.

-

It  _ hurts _ . I can’t move. I try to breathe but something’s already doing the work for me. I open my eyes and see white. So much bright light that nothing else is visible. I squint but even then nothing forms itself. I tightly close my eyes, the whiteness bringing on a migraine on top of all the pain across my body. I try to move my tongue and feel something jammed in my throat. It’s coarse and bulky and tastes like plastic. I try to spit it out but it’s lodged far past my uvula and into my esophagus.

I try to bring my hands up to rip the thing out but they must be tied down to whatever I’m laying on. My legs and chest are the same. I don’t feel straps but I must be held down. I try opening my eyes again and this time see the end of the white light. It’s a large circle of bright above my head and after squinting, I can make it out to be a lamp. The overhead ones that doctors use.

Am I in the hospital? 

I move my head but only get it to go a few centimeters to each side. I’m in a standard looking hospital room. It’s white, bright, clinical, and quiet. I’m in a hospital bed, covered by a light blue sheet. I feel hot. Burning hot. Like it’s the middle of July and there’s no air conditioning hot. But it’s October and it was so cold at Homecoming most girls brought heavy coats to wear outside that matched their dresses.

Someone must have found me and brought me here. Do they know who I am? Have they told the world who Spider-Man is? Do they even know my name? I look for a medical chart on the bed or the small table adjacent to the bed but don’t see anything. I wait what feels like an eternity. The thing inside my throat hurts and my body is on fire and the brightness is giving me a headache. I hear something at the door. I can’t see it but I know someone’s walking in. Footsteps are followed by a loud bang as the door is shut. 

It’s Toomes.

“Peter,” he says as if he didn’t try to kill me.

I can’t speak, my mouth forced open by the object. I stare at him. He’s in regular looking clothes, blue shirt and jeans. He looks like somebody’s dad and not a homicidal maniac. 

“You’ve been asleep a long time, Peter. You probably feel like shit, I imagine,” the older man chuckles.

How is this funny? He almost killed me! I try to move but all my body can give is a weak wiggle. If this really is a hospital, I must be drugged and that’s why I can’t move.

“Here, Peter. Let’s take this out. You can obviously breathe just fine now that you’re awake.”

Toomes moves closer to the bed and despite my best efforts to move, he reaches behind my head and unclips something. He places a firm grip on the base of whatever’s in my mouth and looks at me.

“I won’t lie. This is going to hurt. A lot,” he warns.

He doesn’t give me any time to prepare myself as the tube is pulled harshly from out of my throat. A full foot of tubing makes its way out of me as Toomes yanks on the plastic. It hurts, but it isn’t as terrible as the pain over the rest of his body. I watch him take the tube that I now recognize as a feeding and breathing tube to the table. 

Toomes is back within a few seconds. I take the time to flex my jaw and finally close my mouth. When he comes back, a wide grin is spread across his face. Like he’s daring me to speak.

“What’re you doing here? Leave me alone. I want my aunt. I won’t tell anyone about what you tried to do … or, I guess, what you did. I lost, okay? Why’re you even here? Just to rub it in my face?” I say, my voice rough from the tubing.

Toomes chuckles. “Peter, where do you think you are right now? I’ll give you one guess.”

Now that he’s said it, I know I’m not in a hospital. Not a normal one, at least. He’s taken me here, probably dug me from out of the rubble after I passed out. I glare at him. 

“What do you want? You wouldn’t go through all this just to kill me.”

“Damn, you’re a smart kid. Well, you’re right, Peter. I didn’t go through all this just to kill you. I have a lot of other plans in mind,” he says.

Toomes sits down on the bed, uncomfortably close. Then again, anywhere near this guy is too close for comfort.

“What do you want?” I repeat. “Did you drug me, fix me up, and wait until I woke up just to mess with me?”

“Sorta,” he grins. “But there’s a lot more to it than that. You’ll see. It’ll take time, Peter. For now, you’re going to want to rest.”

“Screw you. I want to leave, Toomes,” I demand.

Toomes shrugs, a grin still plastered on his face. He leans back to grab a hold of the blue sheet over my body. He pulls it away.

“There ya go. Try walking out of the door.”

I scream.  _ No.  _ This isn’t real. This is a terrible dream. I can’t actually be … my body. My body is  _ mutilated.  _ My right arm is completely severed, up to the shoulder. My left leg has also been removed, cut above the knee. My left arm is intact but I’m missing two fingers. My left leg is also amputated, this one cut at the ankle. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. It  _ hurts.  _

“Calm down, Peter. It’s okay. It’s okay,” says Toomes as he rubs the remainder of my thigh. 

I jolt in the bed. I naturally shake and tremble at the sight of my body so …  _ mangled. _

“What the hell did you do to me?” I scream.

“I did nothing. My team fixed you. You would’ve died without our help. Your ...,” Toomes touches the bandaged stump at my shoulder. “Amputations were necessary. I was heartbroken when I heard the news.”

“What is wrong with you? Let me go! I need to see a doctor, I need, I need -” I’m cut off by Toomes.

“My team are trained professionals, you don’t need to see anybody else. I know you’re scared, Peter. But you have to trust me. We’ll get you through physical therapy.”

I want to thrash but whatever Toomes’ team gave me makes me so weak. I end up only shaking my head as I let tears run down my face.

“What do you mean by ‘we’? Let me go home, Toomes.  _ Please. _ ”

Toomes shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d get so hurt by the collapse. I thought it’d at worst give you a nasty concussion. I was ready to deal with a concussed kid. But then … then they told me you’d lose most of your limbs and I was so pissed at myself. How could I let my toy be damaged like that? I moped during your surgery. But then I got to see you all cut up. I gotta say, Peter. You look much better this way.

“Not that you were ever unattractive, no, no. I knew the second I saw you at my doorstep with my daughter that you wouldn’t be going home that night. But something about how wrecked you look. How …  _ helpless _ you look. We’re going to have a lot of fun, Peter.”

“N-no. Please, let me go. I … I won’t tell anyone, please.  _ Please _ , Too-”

“Address me with respect, boy. You’re not allowed to use my name from this point on, understood? You _will _call me Sir.”

“Please just ... let me go,” I beg.

“You and I both know that’s not going to happen, Peter. But it’s okay. Let me show you how much fun we’re going to have,” Toomes says as he leans even closer to me.

I can’t push him away or squirm from under his grip. He’s on top of me within seconds, his disgusting mouth latching onto my neck. He kisses and sucks it, it doesn’t feel good at all. No one’s ever touched me like this. I stifle my cries as he assaults my exposed neck. His hands travel across my body and land on my stomach, just above the white shorts I was forced to wear.

I wanted to kiss Liz like this at Homecoming. Why didn’t I just stay at the dance? Why did I have to fight Toomes? Why did I have to prove I was a hero? Now he’ll keep me here, wherever here is, forever. He won’t let me go. He’ll rape me. Oh God, he’s going to  _ rape  _ me. I hyperventilate, my throat constricts and fights for air. The muscles pull underneath Toomes’ tongue. I shake. It’s all I can do. My arms and legs have been  _ amputated.  _ I’m drugged, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. 

It  _ hurts _ .


	2. Grinding and Illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mysterio traps his enemy Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTENSE GORE WARNING.

Peter’s only fourteen when he becomes a mutant. It’s been five months as Spider-Man for the young New York teen, and it’s already proving to be more than it’s worth. His suit is homemade, tacky with a bright blue and red sweatshirt and a permanent marker drawn spider on his chest. He’s agile and alert now with his new spider senses, but he’s still just a teen. He has adult-like strength but adolescent maturity. Peter thinks he’s ready to be a hero, but it comes at a cost.

Quentin Beck, bonafide villain and easily one of the most powerful ones on this side of the country, is Peter’s current enemy. Beck, using his supervillain stage name Mysterio, has been intervened by the spider for weeks now. The hero has constantly been interrupting important business meetings with his team on the latest advancements in his illusion tech. The new hero has done it nearly a dozen times since his arrival in New York, and the adversary is causing Beck to lose not only his time and money, but also his patience. He’s set up another small tirade in a local slum where he’ll allude and trick a few scrappy beggars. It won’t be as big as his first project in New York, the first time Spider-Man ruined Beck’s plans at manipulating a more wealthy area. But it’ll be big enough to get the hero to rush over and try to stop him. 

Beck’s standing as he easily makes a few local homeless men think they’re being chased by their darkest nightmares. One screams, one’s so drunk he nearly faints from the sudden scare, and the other is silently sobbing as he curls up against his bed made of plastic and wrappings. It’s a sad sight to behold, and this warehouse smells like shit and piss because the beggars living here all share the same piss and shit pots. Beck tries scrunching his nose up to avoid the smell, but the pungent odor prevails and fills his nostrils. He sighs, it’ll all be worth it to catch the spider bastard.

Beck knows the spider will be here, he made sure his team on media would create a fake police report of the mysterious screams and howls of terror they heard coming from the abandoned warehouse on sixth street. And when the soon to be fallen hero arrives, Beck will hit him with his latest and greatest tech. He’s tired of making lowlife assholes think scorpions are falling on them or bugs are crawling inside their mouths or the boogeyman is out to get them. Spider-Man will face a much more real terror; himself.

Peter’s on his way home from school when his phone buzzes. An anonymous tip was sent to the police, people can be heard screaming from the old slaughterhouse on sixth street in Greenwich. Peter swipes down to check the time, it’s only four. It shouldn’t be too big or a deal. It’s probably just some freak trying to beat somebody, maybe gang-related. He should have it done by dinner with May. 

Peter’s eager to sling his backpack into the nearest alley and quickly strip into his homemade suit. He straps the web-shooters on and fastens the goggles around his head, finalizing his gear for another cool fight. Peter was never skilled at fighting before but something about the radiation made him agile and strong, a perfect combo in a fight. Now, he takes out a dozen guys without breaking a sweat or their necks. Peter’s still a kid after all, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone severely. He’d much rather knock them out and call the cops, swinging away before they even make it to the scene. Peter would love to work with the police, but he wants to be both Peter Parker and Spider-Man with neither of the world’s colliding. 

Peter makes his way to the sixth street warehouse, he stares at the large building. He scans the area, looking for an entrance. He remembers Ned’s dad telling him about this place. It used to be a warehouse for some leather company before New York became the bustling city it is today. He remembers his dad telling him about the local animals slaughtered there before all of the agriculture and herding was moved up north once the skyscrapers started to be developed. Ever since then it’s been abandoned and only ever used by local homeless people as shelter.

The teen looks at the abandoned building and sees an entrance from an already broken window on the second floor. Peter shoots his webs, created by a fluid of his own design, and propels himself onto the wall of the building and easily slips in. He stands on the hard floor of the warehouse and looks around at the desolate place. It’s nothing but a room with concrete colored floors and brick walls, massive and empty. Peter can see spots on the floor from where machinery must have been, the upper floors were the leather fitting areas, he remembers. 

The boy waits a moment before carefully walking around the empty space. He doesn’t hear any screaming and he’s sure there’s no one outside. Beck’s on the ground floor when he gets the signal from his team that Spider-Man has entered the building. He watches as the last of the homeless men run out of the building, terrified the vision he concocked. Beck hurries up the long flight of stairs, hoping that when he gets to the hero he won’t be too late. Peter’s just about to leave when he hears running to his right. He turns over and spots Mysterio, fully clad in his green and purple gear, at the top of the steps. 

“Of course it’s you. That’s just my luck,” says the smart-mouthed hero.

Beck rolls his eyes behind his helmet. “I can’t tell if you’re surprised, pissed off, or delighted to see me. It’s good to see you, too, spider.”

Peter crosses his arms at his newest and first real enemy. He knows Mysterio too well at this point to know there’s always a catch to his devious plans. He was called here for a reason, whatever that may be.

“Why am I here, man? It’s almost dinner time! I could be chowing down on kosher food right now but instead I’m led on another goose chase by the jester of New York. Don’t you have a life, Mysterio?” Peter spits.

Beck seethes underneath his helmet. Spider-Man has caused his plans to fail too many times. He’s ruined and wasted so much money he’s poured into his work. But that ends today. He tries to keep calm before making his way towards the hero.

“Oh, I think I’ve got something much more fun, Spider-Man. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be entertained.”

Peter’s fed up with dealing with Mysterio. He’s missed one too many dinners that he’s had to lie his way through. And telling Aunt May he was just out swimming isn’t going to work when it’s October.

“Look, Mysterio. I’m sure you have a circus act for me up your sleeve,” Peter says as he adjusts his web slingers. “But I really need to get going. I promise I’ll be at the matinee show tomorrow, how’s that?”

Peter tries slinging his webs but the fluid only spurts out and falls to the warehouse floor. He tries again but the fluid won’t extend past a foot or two before becoming flaccid and falling. He looks up at Mysterio who’s slowly walking towards the hero. He tries once more but now the fluid won’t come out at all. Peter fiddles with the backing of his shooters but nothing works. How could his fluid have gone haywire so quickly? He just swung into the building with them not even five minutes ago.

Beck watches as Spider-Man slings a web, de webs it and tries webbing it again. Each spurt of webbing he spouts sticks but he’s not propelling himself out of the building. Which must mean his illusion is working. The hero thinks there’s something wrong with his gear, rendering him on the ground for now. Beck won’t let him get out of this warehouse now that he knows his tech is working.

“Uh, technical difficulties?” Peters quips as he watches the last of his fluid fall to the floor.

Mysterio’s gaining in on him now and he knows he needs to get ready to fight now. Peter goes into fighting position, ready for his senses to alert him when and where to punch. He waits.  _ And waits.  _ But nothing happens. Peter’s dumbfounded as his spider senses cease to function and he’s left to fight on his own. He readies anyway but when he turns around to face Mysterio, he’s gone.

Beck holds back his laughter as he watches the confused hero in front of him look for where he is. He’s perfectly visible to anyone else right now, but to this poor spider, he’s outright invisible. He punches the hero. It feels amazing to have the hero so vulnerable. But he doesn’t want to end it like this, so quick and boring. He told the spider he’d give him a show, and that’s what he plans on giving him. He needed to punch him so he could close his eyes for just a second. Because when Spider-Man’s eyes open, he’ll be in a very different world. One of his worst nightmares.

Peter opens his eyes and everything’s dark. He goes to touch his head and feels his goggles snapped on one side. He rips them off and throws them to the floor. His eyes are now exposed to whoever is in whatever place he’s in. He speaks, trying to swim his way through the darkness with sound.

“Hello? What is this? Is .. Is it April Fool’s already? Real funny, Mysterio,” Peter says but his voice shakes. 

He wouldn’t admit it to his foe, but he’s scared. He’s never liked the dark, ever since he was a kid. Fear of heights he had to get over once he became Spider-Man. But fear of the dark is something the real Peter Parker still faces. Spider-Man doesn’t fight in the dark. Peter reaches forward but feels nothing. He moves his arms all around him but they don’t hit anything.

Beck lets out his laughter this time, having too much fun watching the hero flail his arms around when he’s only a few feet away. Spider-Man turns his head in his direction after hearing his laugh.

“Sorry I had to turn off the lights. Your eyes are pretty. A really nice honey color,” mocks Beck.

Peter’s too scared for a comeback. “What’s going on? Where are you?”

He starts walking in the abyss, he’s terrified but he tries to find an exit. Whatever’s going on has to end soon, right? Maybe it’s a drug Mysterio gave him that makes him hallucinate? Peter knows that isn’t likely but he doesn’t have any more options. He walks until he’s stopped by something in the way. He touches it, it feels like a wall. He runs his hands along the wall, trying to find an exit.

Beck laughs again as the hero tries to escape. But standing and watching him isn’t nearly as entertaining as killing him. He rushes over to the spider and pulls him from behind, receiving a sudden thrash from the hero in his grip. For the first time in the last few months, Beck’s moves aren’t sensed by the spider. He knows he has the upper hand and drags him back, hand held firmly in place at his shoulder. 

“Let me have a look at the man who ruins my life,” Beck says as he peels the fabric mask back.

He tosses the mask and looks back to see … a kid. A  _ young  _ kid. The boy in his grip can’t be more than fourteen years old. He’s pale white with rosy pink cheeks and a button nose. Large does eyes encase the honey irises he caught a glimpse of before. His hair is so soft looking, brown and curly and sticking in every direction. The faint signs of summer freckles can be seen under the child’s eyes, sitting on top of his pink cheeks. Beck smiles.

“Who knew Spider-Man would be this pretty?”

Peter thrashes in Mysterio’s grip as he feels his mask pulled off. He tries hitting him but arms can’t find another body in the darkness. His mask is soon off and he feels the enemies hot hand travel from his shoulder to his exposed neck. He frantically looks around but can’t see anything in the darkness. He breathes in shallow, quick breaths as he realizes he’s been unmasked. His greatest enemy can see his face, he can find out who he is. He could hurt Aunt May.

“Please … Please let me  _ go!” _ The teen whines.

Beck laughs hysterically. What sort of goldmine did he stumble into? “Are you kidding? You think I’d let a boy who looks like this go? What’s this pretty boy’s name, Sarah?”

Beck talks directly into his wireless mic, waiting for the media analysis Sarah to find out who the boy in his grip is. While he waits for her scans, he drops the teen, who runs in the opposite direction. Beck doesn’t even bother stopping him. The kid’s blinded, it’ll take him hours to find out he’s still in the real world, especially someone his age. He just watches the spider run as he displays his usual round of illusions, waiting to save his more creative ones for when he finds out who this kid is.

Peter runs into the darkness and trips on something. He looks down, emerging from the dark rises an enormous, almost cartoon sized, snake. Its tongue slithers out of its mouth, hissing as the teen tries scrambling away from it. He goes to kick it but it lashes out at Peter, fangs bared and ready to bite. Peter manages to pull himself up and try running again, only this time he hits another wall with no door. It’s like he’s trapped in a box with no escape. He turns around, expecting the snake to bite him but it’s gone.

“What the - huh? What did - I-I-I …  _ What  _ is happening?” He shouts.

Beck rolls his eyes as the hero pathetically cries out for help on the other side of the warehouse floor. He watches the teen try to run his hand along the brick wall of the building, yet again, trying to find a way to escape. It takes another minute but soon Sarah is back online and speaking to Beck.

“Facial recognition says that’s fourteen year old Peter Parker, sir. Lives in Queens with his only family, an aunt named May Parker. Only other info I can dig up is his school, he’s in Keppo Middle now but according to his aunt on FaceBook, he just got into Midtown on a scholarship. Smart kid. He’ll be there next fall.”

“No,” Beck says to himself. “He won’t be.”

“Sir?” Sarah asks.

"Input digital images of the aunt and the school to the illusion interface.”

Sarah’s quiet. Beck watches Spider-Man, no.  _ Peter Parker.  _ He watches Peter thrash and hyperventilate in his imaginary darkness. He keeps touching his head, shakes in fear, and breathes so hard his chest heaves. It’s a beautiful sight, even from so far away. He won’t let this boy leave this warehouse alive. He can’t.

“Upload the images  _ now!”  _ He demands. After that, he cuts contact with his team.

Peter’s still trying to escape, trying to remain calm as he runs his hands along the seemingly never ending wall of whatever place he’s in. He tries to find a door, window, release pull, switch, button, anything that could get him out of here. He stops his attempts when he hears Mysterio’s voice again, so much more menacing now that he can’t see him. He’s screaming, but not to him. He doesn’t ask or question it, just tries to ignore him and find an exit.

Peter’s caught off guard when he turns around and sees Mysterio behind him. He’s the only thing he’s been able to see since this started. He blinks at him, attempting to move forward but knowing not to.

“What’s … What’s happening?” The confused and frightened teen asks.

“Pretty Peter Parker. It fits, ha. Cute,” says his enemy.

Peter’s stunned. His biggest villain knows his full name. He knows who he is, he’s seen his face. He shakes his head. This has to be a dream. Nothing here even makes sense. Did he bump his head on the way home from school? Is this the result of his unconscious state, playing over the worst-case scenario fight he can image?

“Scary, huh? It’s only going to get worse, kid. God, I should’ve done this months ago. Just look at yourself.”

Suddenly, a dozen full-bodied mirrors surround the teen. Mysterio disappears, in his place the largest mirror stands. Peter’s forced to look at himself from all angles. He catches a glimpse of his state; tousled hair, unmasked, face red, sweat dripping from his brow, trembling body, all wrapped into his stupid sweatshirt suit. He cringes. He looks like he’s scared, but he’s trying not to be. Mysterio’s voice affirms his fears.

“Look at you, Peter. You’re just a kid in sweats. You don’t look like a hero. You look like any other little kid. And you’re  _ scared  _ of me, aren’t you? It’s written all over your face,” the voice booms.

Peter tries pushing the mirrors away but he trips and falls into the largest one. He screams, the fall looks like it’s from the sky. His body prepared himself for a major fall but he lands in just a few milliseconds, body hitting the floor with a sudden pang. He feels pain wash through his body as he tries to stand up, the wind effectively knocked out of him.

“St-stop. Don’t -”

Peter tries to speak but he’s cut off by Mysterio’s booming voice again. 

“Don’t what, Peter? Don’t tell New York that their new hero is just a kid in sweatpants? Or maybe you don’t want me to tell your aunt.”

Before Peter appears May, looking just as usual as ever. He tilts his head at the perplexing image. How could his aunt be here? How does he know about her? Why is he doing this to him? The darkness doesn’t suit her, she looks scared and helpless. Peter runs to her, but she keeps getting further and further away. Her body floating backward every time he tries to reach out to her. She’s crying, she’s screaming for help and there’s nothing Peter can do. Suddenly, she stops floating and Peter’s about to grab her when he’s trapped. A gigantic glass pane, much taller than himself, drops between them.

Peter pounds on the glass, watching as Mysterio reappears behind her. He’s forced to watch him grab her neck and squeeze. His aunt’s eyes bulge and bore into Peter. He screams from behind the glass. He looks at both sides and sees there’s no end to it. There’s nothing he can do as he watches Mysterio squeeze the life out of May, her body dropping to the floor before dissipating as a cloud of smoke.

He backs away, confused and terrified. He knows this isn’t real but he can’t get ahold of himself because of how lifelike it all seems. The darkness, the snake, the mirrors, May. They all felt real, the glass pane he touched felt real in his hands. The snake’s hideous slithering sounded real. His reflection in the mirrors looked real. The darkness still surrounding him  _ has  _ to be real.

Beck watches as the teen has a mental break. It won’t be long now, he thinks. He chuckles after he’s done watching Peter struggle to regain his breath. With just the press of a simple button, he portrays a large scale version of himself. A towering, frightening Mysterio cowers over Peter in the stark darkness of the empty space he hasn’t realized he hasn’t left yet. The figure makes its first step towards Peter who runs from it’s crushing feet. Beck looks up at the figure in awe, the thing must be eighty feet tall to poor Peter. He uses his own voice and increases the volume to make it sound as booming and full as the giant chasing the boy.

“Time to end our little game, Peter. It was fun playing with you, but all playdates must come to an end. But I’m guessing that’s something you’re used to, right?”

Peter doesn’t acknowledge the demeaning comment. He runs as fast as he can, shaking in as his body goes into extreme stress. He trips over himself and goes to push himself back to his feet. When he stands, he sees the hallways of Keppo. It’s nowhere near as nice and neat as he knows them to be. The lockers look decrepit and rusty, some even falling off the hinges or hanging onto them. He doesn’t have much time before he needs to run again, Mysterio gaining fast behind him.

Beck watches as he maneuvers the giant version of himself to chase Peter around the second floor, laughing as Peter turns every fake corner. He lets the teen chase himself half to death before leading him to the stairs to the ground level of the old slaughterhouse. 

Peter rounds the corner to the only exit he’s seen since he’s been stuck in whatever dreamland Mysterio has him in, stairs. He races down the stairs, the mighty villain breaking the ceiling and walls around him as he follows him down. Peter’s greeted by another hallway of lockers. Buft as he runs across the hall he hears rubble crash down. He turns back, thinking the ceiling is caving in and he’ll get trapped. But he sees the giant Mysterio stuck under rubble. He knows now is his chance to hide.

Peter sprints down the hallway and round two corners before deciding to hide in one of the top lockers of a unit that’s fallen on the floor. He swings open the rusty locker and checks to make sure nothing’s inside. Just as he’s scanning the metal compartment, he hears the giant boom from somewhere close.

“You can’t hide from me, Peter Parker.”

Peter takes a deep breath as he climbs into the locker, holding onto the top of the lockers for support as he forces his feet in first. He isn’t met with a sturdy metal plate to rest his feet on. Whatever he’s standing on is unstable, with it moving back and forth on the ball of his ankle. He tries to gain balance but can’t. The locker is gone and everything resorts back to darkness. 

Beck knows Peter got into Midtown, he knows he made his own web shooter and web fluid, and has outsmarted both verbally and mentally so many criminals before him. But he’s successfully trapped Spider-Man in something he can’t get out of, no matter how hard he tries or sasses. He watches as a panicked Peter stands awkwardly fumbles as his feet struggle to balance on the blades of the grinder. 

Meat grinders were pretty expensive back when this building was operating. Beck smirks as he silently thanks God and also his handy maintenance team who got the machine back up and running. What’s a supervillain without his trusty and loyal dogs who do all the hard work for him? Beck walks over and spectates Peter, now stuck inside of a metal funnel directly aimed at the blades. He swipes the illusion away, returning Peter’s view to normal.

Peter’s suddenly harassed by a bright light. He focuses his eyes to the sight and sees, actually  _ sees.  _ He looks around but can only see … metal. He reaches out a hand to touch the grey surface. He’s startled by Mysterio’s voice.

“Having fun?” He asks.

Peter looks up, seeing the villain peering at him from above. Peter looks at the size of the metal encasing him. How did he get here? The locker on the ground. That must have been just another trap. He glares at the illusionist. 

“Let me go. I’m done playing games,” says Peter.

“Oh, me too, Pete. In fact, this isn’t a game at all. This is very,  _ very  _ real. Why don’t I show you?”

Peter watches as Mysterio’s gone for a second and suddenly back on the ledge of the metal funnel. A terrible machine-like sound fills his ears as something shifts beneath him. Peter looks down at his feet, seeing eight large blunt blades begin to slowly whirl to life. 

“What the - What the hell!?” He screams.

“Did you know this place was a slaughterhouse in the thirties? I had no idea. Anyway, from what I hear, you’re pretty smart. Let's see if you can figure this one out,” says Beck.

“Wh-What? Wait! No, you’ll kill me! I don’t - I ca-  _ Please!”  _ Peter begs.

Peter watches as the blades roar to life, suddenly going from slow spins to decent ones, starting to cut into his sneakers. He tries pushing himself out of the grinder but can’t because of the funnel shape. He screams when the blades dig harder into his shoe and rip his skin and muscles of his feet, slicing them wide open. Once his feet are in, he’s over. The blades of the grinder won’t let him out.

Beck watches as the teen screams and begs for mercy while his feet are cut and mangled so badly he cries. He can’t believe he was fearful of Spider-Man once. Now that he knows how the hero is just a little kid playing dress-up who screams like a girl, it’s hard not to feel a little embarrassed. Becks laughs as the blades pull in Peter’s feet and start to slice away at his ankles, finally cutting into his ridiculous homemade suit.

“Thank Christ that God awful suit is going, too. If there’s one thing worse than your insufferable quips and jabs, it’s being told them by a hero in a toddler’s first day of daycare outfit. Did your aunt make it for you?”

Peter’s too stunned for words, too pained. He screams in agony as his ankles are twisted and shattered as the machine pulls them into the blades, slicing them open. The blades must have cut some important vein down there because blood spurts up at Peter, covering the side of the metal funnel and his permanent markered spider on his chest. He desperately tries pulling himself out of the grinder by holding onto the funnel’s sides, but it does nothing as the machine pulls him in.

Beck turns his head to watch the outside of the grinder, wanting to see if any part of Peter has been ground up into fleshy ground meat. He’s disappointed to see only small spurts of gore and blood at the other end and gives up, going back to watching the teen beg for mercy. Beck leans over the side of the funnel to feel the boy’s soft hair.

“Guess I better play with you now before you get too far into the machine. I knew this hair was going to be soft. What shampoo do you use?”

Peter finally speak coherent words to Beck. He thrashes his upper body and hollers in sheer agony and misery, it’s music to Beck’s ears.

“Please, fuck! G-God! Stop it! Let-let-let me - Ah!  _ Please!”  _ Peter screeches.

Beck frowns. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Beck laughs as Peter sobs, his legs now half-eaten by the machine. Beck suddenly remembers the gore and checks the front of the grinder to see if any has fully formed. To his delight, a small heaping of Peter’s flesh as already been ground. He hops off of the ladder and walks over to the industrial-sized plate waiting to catch more of his flesh. He picks up a hefty amount and hoists himself back on the ladder with one hand. By the time he’s climbed to the top, he sees Peter’s already at his knees, the kneecaps about to bust any moment from the pressure of the blades. 

“Look here, Peter,” Beck says as he chucks the gore into the teen's face. “Peter meat.”

Peter wails as his own flesh hits his head. He looks at his feet, no. His now busting kneecaps and sees the flesh easily be sucked back into the blades, having already been processed unlike the rest of his body. Peter screams, his body goes into hyper mode. Everything suddenly much more painful and real.

Beck watches as Peter hyperventilates in the grinder. He notices the kids' hands are the only part of himself not at risk of being sliced. He reaches as far as he can into the funnel without sucking himself into the blades. He pushes at Peter’s shoulders, forcing his left hand to be caught on one set of blades. Peter screams even louder and tries to force his hand out of the blades with his still loose hand. Beck watches, amused by the cute boy’s state of pure terror and peril.

Peter’s kneecaps are busted and shattered and lodged something inside of the grinder, he’s up to his midthigh now, and somehow still alive. It must be his mutant blood that’s making him endure this all, up until it reaches his heart and kills him. Peter can only sob in pain as he’s inched further and further into the machine.

“It’s too bad I couldn’t fuck you before this. But duty calls, Peter. I’m sure you can understand. Us heroes have a lot on our plates. I have running my business and maintaining my public image on my plate, while you have … Well. I guess you don’t have to worry about much of anything anymore, huh?”

Peter screeches curses at the villain as the blades finally reach his groin, ripping the rest of his pants away and revealing his penis that easily and quickly is sucked into the machine. Beck pouts as he watches the sex organ of the teen so quickly be eaten by the blades. He shrugs after another thought.

“Aww, there goes your cock. That’s a shame, Peter. Not that you’d be needing it anymore anyway.”

It’s at this point that Peter vomits the contents of his stomach all over himself and into the grinder. Beck cringes and turns his nose, watching as the machine pulls in his vomit. Peter’s waist and ass are nearly completely slicing by the time he finished vomiting, just in time for his abdomen to begin being torn at by the blades. 

Peter’s entire bottom half of his body is gone and ground into fleshy chunks, his arm rips off at the shoulder and is sucked into the machine like a greedy child in a candy store. But nothing about his predicament is as innocent and sweet as that. Peter’s mind begins to blank and spin from the trauma, his survival instinct trying to help him dissociate from all of the pain.

Beck kicks the side of the funnel to bring Peter back to reality, causing it to vibrate and wake the teen up from his catatonic daze. He smiles as the teen looks helplessly back at Beck, tears down his face, arm severed and gushing blood, stomach torn into and spilling onto the blades below. It’s hard not to look at this scene and not smile.

“Not much longer, Peter. It’s been fun having you. I’d say let's play this again next time, but … you know,” says Beck.

Peter’s breath hitches as the first blade makes it to his lungs. He goes to speak to Beck, to beg for mercy, to ask why, to tell him to tell May he loves her. But the breath is gone. He tries again but his lungs are being pierced and sliced by the blades and they’re being sucked in fast. Blood pools out of his mouth, his intact arm instinctively goes to wipe at it but the motion causes it to be sucked into the blades as well. 

He struggles to breathe for another few seconds before the tip of a section of blades slice into the lowest chamber of his heart. He’s still, barely, as the blade makes its way through the rest of his lungs. Finally, Peter’s gone when the blade reaches the highest chamber in his heart.

Beck smiles as he watches the life leave Peter. Lots of stuff usually happens to bodies when the soul inhabiting them leaves. They usually piss and shit, releasing all of the bodily fluids it has left in its system. The bodies usually tense up and have muscle spasms. But Peter’s so mangled and destroyed by the blades the only thing left is his head.

Beck can’t believe the trouble the machine goes through just to get the entire head through. It spurts and sputters so much Beck’s afraid it’s broken. But it roars back to life and soon begins cutting all that remains. He watches Peter’s lifeless eyes be sucked into the grinder, never to be seen by anyone again. Once the last strand of hair has receded into the grinder, Beck jumps off of the ladder and entertains himself by looking at the heap of Peter-meat on the plate.

He flicks a chunk with his finger that flies up into the air and lands to the right on the floor. He laughs once more before ordering someone on his team to pick him up on sixth street. He calls Sarah and tells her to contact the police, and tell them the screaming from the sixth street warehouse is louder than ever. Someone will find Peter and figure he must have been playing and gotten stuck in the grinder. He was only a little kid, of course. That’s what kids do.

Beck leaves the slaughterhouse, leaving what remains of Peter Parker for the sorry cop who has to investigate the ground floor.


	3. Boiled!Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds himself in a very heated situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTENSE GORE WARNING.

It’s freezing. Unbearably freezing. So cold Peter’s brain hardly registers it, turning the ice cold pain into one of seething boiling hot burns until his conscious wakes up. He’s in … water? Freezing ice cold water surrounds Peter’s naked form. He involuntarily shivers at the cold. His teeth chatter, his eyelashes stick to his bottom eyelid. He has to practically rip them open, not with his hands, those are somehow chained to something at the bottom of whatever sort of container he’s being held in. He has to open them with the small amount of strength his eyelids have. 

They do, eventually, part and reveal a small light bulb hanging from about six feet above Peter’s body. He blinks away the tiny icicles that have formed on the tips of his eyelashes as he squints at the light overhead. It’s not bright by any means, but there’s enough light in the room that he can see what’s being done to him; Peter’s laying naked along the bottom of a large bathtub, a type made from the forties with deep bellies that can easily hide the lithe bodies of thirteen-year-old boys like Peter. The tub he’s in however is dingy and stained with strange looking muddy brown streaks across the sides of it. Filled to the brim of his chamber is near freezing water, spurting and spilling from a large tap at only inches away from the boy’s feet. Peter tries kicking at the tap but even his feet are being chained to the bottom of the tub. He tries to lean down to see what’s holding his limbs in place and sees a pair of grey metal chains holding his wrists through the icy water. 

Peter’s head is just barely above the water’s surface, the edges of the water meeting the outer corners of his eyes. Despite the tap still running and more of the freezing liquid being poured into the tub, Peter’s face isn’t being covered. He can’t tell because of his head position but by the sound of water flowing and hitting the floor, he can figure that the tub is short enough for the water to spill out before covering his face and drowning him. 

He screams the little that he can. The ice cold water is almost freezing his throat, making his only screams short cries and sharp, out of breath screeches. He tries to move but the water makes his muscles tense, it’s as if the cold is freezing his entire body. Peter makes a small phrase, lips that have no doubt turned blue by the cold carrying his pleas.

“H-H-Hello? I-I-I,” Peter’s teeth chatter more profusely, ending his useless cry for help.

Peter scans the area again, not seeing anything he missed before. But his limited head movement could mean he’s not seeing a way out. He tries moving his head but the small part of his body that isn’t submerged into the icy water plunges in, producing a small cry from the boy. He turns his head back to the position his captor wants him in.

How did he get here? It feels like just a few minutes ago Aunt May told him to head to the corner store. They needed milk for May’s dinner. She pressed a ten dollar bill in her nephew’s hand and told him to get a liter of milk and whatever else he wanted. She sent Peter off with a curt kiss to his temple.

But then there was a man parked in the alley in between Peter’s apartment and the store. It was the only way Peter knew how to get to the corner store without walking through traffic so he couldn’t turn around. But he seemed like a nice man. He asked for help with his tire, something had lodged itself in between the rim and the rubber. Peter admitted he was only thirteen, he didn’t know anything about cars. Even though his Uncle Ben tried to teach him, nothing ever really stuck with the boy. Cars weren’t interesting to him like math was.

The man smiled, he really did seem nice. He said that he shouldn’t expect a boy as young as Peter to understand and that he was sorry. That’s all Peter remembers. Now he’s here, in a tub filled to the brim of icy cold water pouring down on him. He shivers, in both fear and cold, as he hears a strange scraping noise. His ears are also submerged in the freezing water, so his sense of hearing is muffled. But Peter can hear the distinct sound of heavy footsteps walking towards him and stopping at the tub’s edge.

Peter looks up and above him is the same man from the alley. He’s old, maybe in his late fifties, like Uncle Ben. His hair and eyes are the same dark shade of brown, now both cold and unkind. Peter shakes as the cold and fear rakes through his body. The man isn’t smiling anymore. He doesn’t seem nice anymore either.

“Peter, was it? Are you enjoying your bath?” Mocks the man.

Peter would shake his head but he doesn’t want the cold water on his face. He tries to speak, his voice still hoarse and shrivel.

“L-Let me g-go! I wan-n-na go home. I’m s-s-s-sorry, please. Let me g-go home,” Peter cries.

“Poor thing, don’t cry. We’re just going to play a game. Then you’ll get to go home,” assures the man.

Peter’s breath hitches. “A g-game?”

The man smiles and nods, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light from above. He uses his index fingers to lift up the surgical mask and pull it across his nose and mouth. He walks out of Peter’s view and doesn’t come back for a few minutes. Peter can tell he hasn’t left the room given the sound of the door hasn’t reached his ears yet. 

Once the man’s done, he speaks to someone that isn’t the boy in the tub. Peter can hear his deep voice through the ice cold water.

“Good evening, everyone. We have a new guest tonight. Meet Peter.”

Peter doesn’t care who’s there with them, he just wants out of the freezing tub and to go back home to his Aunt. He cries out, his voice again coming out rough and scared.

“I d-don’t wanna pl-play a game, I wan-n-na go home! Lemme g-go!” He whines.

“Aww, but it’ll be lots of fun, Pete. Why don’t you start? I’m sure you’d rather be in a nice warm bath, huh? You can start playing by telling everyone how much you want to be warm,” says the man.

Peter’s head spins. He doesn’t understand what’s going on or who the man he once thought was nice is referring to. He squirms in the water but it only makes small waves that splash onto his dry face. He stops moving and looks up at the man now back in view. 

“You’re cold, right? The water coming out will start to warm up if you tell everyone how cold you are. See, it’s a really simple game, Peter.”

“I want t-to get out! I don’t wanna play!” Peter shouts, more affirmative.

The man leans down, his face inches from Peter’s. The water spills and splashes on the man’s pants as he bores into the small, submerged boy.

“You  _ will _ play. Cold water can kill you, you know. You’re lucky you haven’t gone into hypothermic shock yet, little prick. Now, start screaming or I’ll chain your neck down and drown you. Your choice.”

Peter doesn’t need any more persuasions. He screams, his nerves from the situation getting to him as he shrieks. Fear rises in his throat and he releases it all, pleading for the cold water to cease and warm water to begin. His throat hurts, now from the cold, fear and the constant shouting he’s forced to do. 

“Please! I-I wanna be warm. Turn the cold w-water off! Please,  _ please _ turn it off! I’m fr-fr-fr-freezing! I’ll freeze to death an-an-and I don’t wanna die!” Peter pleads.

The man beside him watches, staring at the young teen as he screams and begs the torture to end. He doesn’t seem to care about the icy water hitting his pants and soaking them. He simply admires the boy’s desperate struggle to remain alive. 

“Would you rather be hot?” The man asks.

Peter screams as a response, fear and adrenaline getting the better of him. “Yes! Please, yes! I wanna b-be hot!”

The more Peter begs whoever he’s being forced to beg to, the more the water spouting from the tap heats up. He soon starts to understand the rules of the sick, twisted ‘game’ the man is forcing him to play. He screams more and more as the water turns from blistering cold to a comfortable, yet chilly temperature. But Peter’s hands and feet are starting to tingle and go numb. He doesn’t remember much from seventh-grade health but he remembers the symptoms of frostbite. He screams louder, hoping the warm water can reverse the effects and return his limbs to their unfrostbitten state.

Hot water pours in, the previous cold water spilling out of the sides and onto the man’s clothes. But Peter doesn’t care. He screams louder, his lips still trembling from the cold and his teeth still chattering with every plea. Eventually, the shivering and chattering stops. Heat pools around the boy who sighs as it reaches his frosted hands and feet still chained to the bottom of the now warmed tub. 

But the heat doesn’t stop. The water’s temperature rises, going from a soothing warmth to an uncomfortable heat Peter’s only ever experienced in hot tubs. The heat begins to burn the edges of his face and heat his body to a painful degree. Peter shouts, his throat now warmed by the hot water.

“Wait! It’s too hot. Stop the water! It’s hot, hot!”

Peter screams as the water reaches painful degrees of heat. The man continues to stare, his face tormenting the now burning teen. He dips a finger inside of the tub and quickly pulls it out.

“Wow, that is quite hot, Pete. But you did beg for this, after all. And by the looks of it, there’s a little lag in the stream. They won’t be able to tell just how hot it is. Oh well, this was a pretty fun game, Pete.”

Peter shrieks. He screams as he understands who the man was talking about. There’s people watching him over some sort of stream online. But who wants to watch a kid be burned by scalding hot water in some sick freak’s basement? Peter thrashes in the water, heat rising and splashing on his tear-stained face. The man can’t do this to him, he can’t be burned.

“No! Pl-please make it stop! It burns, it burns!” Peter shouts at the man for mercy.

“I’m sure it does, Peter. You know you can die by hy _ per _ thermia too, right? I like this much better, truth be told,” says the man.

The heat increases until it’s boiling. Peter screams in terror as he feels his skin bubble and burn with every degree the water inches up. The hairs on his body are easily and quickly singed off, floating and separating in the boiling water that pours over the teen. His skin continues to bubble and blister, some burns popping and oozing out pus that dissolves in the scalding water.

The man continues to stare at the burning boy. Peter coughs up small bits of lung matter as the boiling water continues to spout out of the tap above his now burned feet. He feels his flesh slowly peel off, lumps of his body float in the water. His skin peels off above the chunks of flesh, revealing the teen’s dying muscles. 

The teen doesn’t know it, but his intern organs have already begun to cook and inflate from the water. His lungs are the first to be fried, burning off the ends and cooking it from the inside. His stomach, liver, and kidneys are cooked in their own now boiling hot fluid. Even breathing starts to hurt as the teen tries to use his cooked and burned lungs that only breathe in the scent of his cooked flesh.

Suddenly, Peter’s head is forced underwater by the man above him. His eyes bulge from the panicked feeling of being drowned. His eyes boil and erupt in the boiling liquid around him. They pus and render the boy blind, who tries to scream under the steaming water. The gesture alone singes his lips and the inside of his mouth, resulting in a mess of pink flesh to boil and float into the water. 

Finally, the boy’s brain begins to boil, grey matter inflates and sizzles inside of his skull which has begun to soften along with the rest of his bones. Within a minute of being below the surface of the water, Peter’s brain ceases to function as it, along with the rest of his body, is cooked from the inside out. 

Tony steps away from the dead teen’s corpse, floating in the tub and stinking up the room with the unmistakable smell of burned flesh. He peels off the hot flame resistant glove used to hold the boy underwater and tosses it on the basement floor. He looks back at the pink, chunky, boiling mess that used to be Peter.

He smiles. This stream was a huge success for sure. He didn’t even know the boy before last week, when one of his fans commissioned him to boil Peter Peter alive. A strange request for a man who typically just slices the throats of children. But he was paid top dollar to boil this boy, and he’s in no position to judge.

Tony waves and ends the stream with a quick thank you to the fan who paid him to end Peter. He rips the mask off and throws it into the now stagnant tub, it floats above the teen’s cooked body. He wonders who it was that commissioned him. Probably that uncle of his. Tony doesn’t blame him, what teenage boy isn’t into cars?

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to my awesome discord server. Come join us at: https://discord.gg/HSZ3AbR Things will only get much, much worse from here, folks. Comment and leave kudos!


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